


Meaningless Code

by Bunnysharks



Series: The Path of Divinity [1]
Category: OneShot (Video Game)
Genre: Downward Spiral, Gen, Heavy Angst, JFC Bunny you really need to stop writing this crap all of the time, Reader-insert technically, Reference to the beta oneshot ending, Solstice Spoilers, Suicide mention, Super slight Reader/Author????, player is God, time loops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12007263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnysharks/pseuds/Bunnysharks
Summary: You weren't so much a God as you were another puppet, doomed on-stage with the rest of them.They simply had the courtesy to pretend that you were something more than just that.





	Meaningless Code

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note: this is considered the 'intermission' story to the main series, which of course, isn't actually finished yet. Sorry. ;n;
> 
> As everything else I write, this was done at 6 in the morning as will probably be edited bc everything I make is trash rip
> 
> (Bonus points if you know what the title is from and if you catch The Little Prince reference used lol)

 

You've killed them all more times than you can remember. The double-digits wound up being too irksome to track with time, and you had eventually declared that the task was too harrowing to bother with before you stopped trying entirely.

None of it was done in the sense of 'divine retribution' or anything that followed such foolish self-righteousness, but rather because you had exhausted every possible opportunity that this world had to offer. You never lifted a finger against anyone- not when you knew the only outcome to any of this was as easy as a simple phrase told to Niko.

There was a quick and painless way for everything but the end. It wasn't that bearing the executioner's axe became easier with time- but that you had smothered your feelings enough that they had stopped shrieking in the back of your head. It became harder to feel. It became harder to feel hurt. 

You were their infallible God.

It was always there where you perched atop your heavenly throne with Niko at the end of the performance, the herald of light who answered your every beck and call with an enchanting loyalty, standing witness to your endless plough of life with a profound, wordless understanding. They never once disagreed with your final decree, even if you knew the choice had killed them.  

Niko, your evening star in a black sky- deserved better than a fatalistic God and a world who could never truly comprehend the gravity of their sacrifice.

It was kind of them all,  admittedly, acting as though they had given you a legitimate choice.

* * *

 

A lifetime of hop-skipping through the cycles have granted you more than enough time to scour every single insignificant detail the denizens had to offer. Truthfully, you knew far more about any of them than they would ever know about you.

Some opened up sooner than others, with varying methods of prying and persuasion at your arsenal with infinite time to master the hows and whats of getting exactly what you wanted out of someone. If you made a wrong move and they clammed up for good, there was always the next loop to wrench it out. There was a selfish, twisted form of relief in knowing that any mistake or slip-up was of no consequence anymore- you'd only wind up back at square one at the end of it all, regardless. You had infinite shots. You were bound to get the results you wanted eventually.

You managed to beat Silver at chess, once. It definitely took your fair share of cycles, not that it had entirely mattered as you'd inadvertently cheated your way to victory. She always kicked things off the same way. Moved the pawn here? Her knight wound up over there. It always followed an algorithm- which you suspected was simply because she was a robot. That was forgivable, at first.

Silver always escorted you into the mines exactly once, and didn't seem to notice even when you turn on a heel and marched right back in before she was even 10 feet away from you. It was always only once. You could ask again, sure, and you have once before, but neither Niko nor the redheaded bot saw the point in your insistence. 

Prophetbot gave you the exact same spiel, and the only way out of that was nudging him away and insisting you didn't need any guidance on where to go next- heaven forbid the prophet preach to a God. Doing so was also robbing them of their one and only directive. Tamed bot or not, that was just... cruel. It never sat right with you. Most times, you found yourself listening out of pity. 

Hah. That's what all of this boiled down to, now. Doing things because you felt compelled to do so- not because it was in your volition. 

Calamus was always in the forest in search of Alula, who had always been missing for three days. The puzzle to whisk her away, fortunately, was always the same- you had the pattern memorized consistantly to such a rhythm that once, just to show off to Niko, you boasted that you could do the entire thing by yourself, with your eyes closed.

You did just that, and the little laugh they gave was well worth the effort when you succeeded. 

The questions you asked, the topics that arose- all of it followed the same, insufferable pattern regardless of how strenuous the effort spent in trying to deviate all of it from the norm. You could derail the course of the cycle for a few seconds at most, before it had inevitably sloped back into where the unseen status quo had perpetually lingered.

You can't remember how many times you've gotten Silver to open up to you about her abandonment, how you've decided to stick around to play with the siblings and sung Alula to sleep when she and Niko exhausted themselves playing soccer, or the moments where you got Plight intoxicated on the job and you'd dangle your legs dangerously off the edge of the garden railing, sneaking past the Guardian bot and passing the time with whatever nonsensical chatter crossed your minds.

The longer this went on, the more it had stung. You had done so much for them, loved them for all you were ever worth, and they hadn't the decency to so much as shake your hand when you had met them all over again.

* * *

 

You tried ending your life in several instances to cut the cycle short- just to see if losing you was of any consequence to the world.

Your hypothesis was that so long as Niko was still in possession of the sun, the world's demise couldn't necessarily be triggered. The only known method of this was to smash or break it at any time, meaning Niko's well-being was paramount, same as always.

Of course, the key word here was “tried”.

The thought first intruded while meandering about the catwalks high above the rest of the sprawling cityscape where the wind mussed your hair and fluttered through your garments, ruffling past Niko's scarf.

Sending the little Messiah off on one of their usual napping breaks, you leaned over the balcony with both arms atop the railing and peered down below, pondering grimly what the reaction would have been if someone had just found the body of their God lying broken and bloody on the sidewalk.

A firm hand on your shoulder had caught you off-guard as you mused.

“Don't even think about it,” the lamplighter's voice urged with gruff distress.

You plastered on that well-practiced grin, shrugging innocently.

“ _I was just enjoying the view, relax. Was I leaning too close to the edge?”_

That was the first time, remarkably, where one of the denizens had thrown you a curve-ball.

The lamplighter does not miss a single beat, and then-

“You can't fool me. Do you have any idea how often I see people up here on my shift, looking down like that and waiting for the right moment to jump?”

His onslaught devolved into a fast-pitch, drawing in close.

“I can see it in your eyes,” he breathed out, regarding you in that moment with a pity so sorrowful that you almost resented him for the gesture, had you known it was simply out of his concern.

He paused, chuckled breathily for a few seconds, and then went completely slack.

“So our God here wants to go off themselves, now,” he closed his eyes, smiling grimly.  
  
“We're really _that_ fucked, aren't we?”

* * *

You think you might have killed Niko, once.

You can't even begin to recall how such a cycle could ever have come to fruition, let alone fathom why you would ever make such a decision after having developed a near-sociopathic obsession with keeping them safe and out of harm's way- it was counter-productive and above all else, was on the opposite end of the spectrum of things you wished to do. Hurting Niko was parallel to ending your own life, that was, if you even so much as remotely held value in your own life, anymore.

Niko was the only reason you were doing any of this.

Perhaps it was a distant, far-off dream, a hallucination, or worst of all, a cycle that once was that you had pushed so far back into your psyche that your mind and soul had declared it to be obsolete and nothing a complete fabrication of your ever-growing madness.

**[Niko won't make it out alive.]**

Huh, what a familiar voice.

So arrogant, so grating. 

 

...

 

 

Niko's body dropped suddenly without making so much a single sound, scarf limp and body unmoving.

“ _Even if we're apart after all of this,”_ you once told Niko long ago, as they sat atop your lap and nestled cozily into you as you watched the dark skies, _“I'll always be near. There are many things in my world that will remind me of you, and keep you close to my heart.”_  
  
“Like what?” they murmured, turning their head to look up at you with large, golden eyes.

You lifted your head up towards the skies, and hummed.

“If I want to remember your laugh, all I need to do is gaze up at the stars, and I'll hear your lovable voice. It'll seem as though the stars are laughing.”

Niko slow-blinked once, uncomprehending, before slowly smiling gleefully at the sentiment.

**[You killed Niko.]**

...Huh?

No, that's not right. You didn't do anything. You-

There was no sound. Nothing after nothing came blasting to your ears, and the stars were laughing, they were laughing and singing and screaming to the chorus of a thousand flies-

YOU KILLED NIKO, YOU KILLED NIKO

Cradling the body, you shook them very lightly before embracing the corpse and sniffing deeply into their scarf, hysteric sobs wracking your beaten frame.

YOUKILLEDTHEMYOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM YOUKILLEDTHEM

You woke up screaming and clawing the wood floors again until your nails were cracked and worn, gazing up at the same old ceiling with tear-streaked cheeks, towards the desolate room where you and Niko would become reunited yet again with a few dozen memories missing from the holster. You couldn't bear to look them in the eyes until the Refuge that loop, and that was likely the most distant you'd ever been with Niko during your time here. They rarely chose to speak to you that entire cycle.

The flashbacks and torment of the memory (dream you think it was, yeah of course, you'd never be so callous as to let Niko die, haha) persist for several more cycles in a gruesome tempo, and it is only after the next five or so loops that you finally granted yourself the privilege of holding them in your arms again.

* * *

You once met the Author in a dream.

The scent of black tea swirled the desk in robust plumes of sweet steam, the calming fragrance accentuating the quaint scribbling of an ink quill on parchment.

You were atop a chaise lounge swaddled in what appeared to be a very thick jacket nothing like your own- the material was very thick and the inside was lined cozily with a sheet of fleece soft to the touch. The sleeves were long and the scent was laden heavily with worn notebook paper what you could only faintly detect as something earthy, like fields of clovers and marigold before summer rain. It was comforting beyond all comprehension, a strange contrast to the usual confusion when meeting a stranger.

Sturdy hands were writing away diligently in a large book, an aviators helmet roosted at a far corner of the same desk.

You opened your mouth to speak, though the words had fled you and the throat shaped nothing of substance to say.

He stopped writing, and even without a clear view of his face (huh, how strange, why was it so fuzzy-) you can feel his eyes on you, fascinatingly scanning every inch with a fatherly sort of doting you weren't at all surprised or perturbed by.

“Ah,” he started calmly, a certain grace in his smile, “I've been wishing to speak with you for so long.”

You struggled to sit yourself upright, having to wrench yourself from the warmth you've been so meticulously enveloped in.

The various books, documents and research papers strewn about the floor, the potted clovers adorning the corners of the room, the aviator helmet and the pilot jacket around your shoulders-

“It's you-” the loftiness had made room for apprehension to worm it's way in through the cracks, pooling viciously in your stomach. “I've... I never thought I'd ever meet you in person-”

A frown quirked his lips for a moment before turning upwards into a half-pleased smile, placing down his quill.

“In a sense, I suppose that's technically what this is,” he spoke regally, the warmth in his voice enough to nearly topple you back into sleep.

The Author was a million-dollar man with the world roiling at his feet, the citizens wailing and entreating for his return to bask the world with the knowledge and affection he had so tenderly bathed them all in.

You shifted tensely, eyes darting around in hopes of finding the little cat messiah who was never more than a foot away from you at any time-

The aviator cleared his throat. “Niko is perfectly fine, you needn't worry. In fact, it was you specifically whom I've so badly wanted an audience with-”  
  
“Please, help them,” you interjected suddenly, the jacket slipping off your shoulders. Was the room always this biting cold? Or had the withered resolve of this pilgrimage seeped through the atmosphere and vacuumed everything into the void?

The humor drained from his face, and it was made quite explicit by the dismal mood drop that you'd infringed upon something you most certainly shouldn't have.

“I...” the Author began with mild hesitance, clearly losing an internal battle in hopes of rewording what he wished to convey.

“I'm afraid I can't help either of you, yet.” his hands were clasped together, doing his earnest best to remain stoic while you could almost physically hear something in the back of your mind smashing to bits like...

...like the sun.

“I apologize for all of the trouble I've caused you. I've....been watching for a long while, now. I've stood witness to your suffering, and the kindness you've shared to the people here who can't offer anything in return-”

“Wait, wait,” you rasped, _“You... you've been watching?”_

There is nothing but silence as he nodded grievously.

You twitched.

“ _You've been watching us this whole time,”_ the indignance broiling in your chest was reaching a gradual crescendo as you steadily sat yourself upright, trying desperately to make eye contact but his face was nothing but a blur, no less jumbled than the mass of squares that threatened to devour the world whole. _“And you couldn't write anything else in those notes to save Niko? You couldn't do anything but just watch us crawl through this hell-”_

“I know exactly what you're thinking,” The Author said, gravely.

“Of course you do,” you shot back icily, “But can you comprehend even a fraction of how I feel about this? Having to repeat the same thing over and over, bleeding myself dry for options to save Niko and the others when I... I don't have a choice,” your legs wobbled dangerously and you collapsed back onto the chaise, trembling.

The Author lowered his head, shoulders slumped. Your eyes widened, and-

“There is nothing I can say or do that can take back the pain you've been caused,” his voice quivered, dutifully reverting back to it's valient attempt at retaining composure. You wonder how much of this is a facade he'd crafted specifically for the day you two would have met.

When he would have no other option but to trample on your feelings.

You... you knew what that like, because you had to make that choice too, but-

“Just save the child,” you pleaded, “Niko is just a kid- they don't deserve this kind of burden. They don't need it in their lives- they need to be safe at home and living the life they should be!”  
  
He doesn't respond.

“I'm no God,” you wailed exasperatedly, “You know that, don't you? I'm just... I'm just a person without the means to handle something like this, and Niko isn't a savior! They're a child, a-and I've been going about the world pretending like I'm having fun and I know what I'm doing, but I know what's going on, here. Niko is just another puppet, aren't they? A-and I'm the one dragging around the strings because in the end, everyone needs to pin the choice on someone else and it doesn't matter what happened to either of us because we're supposed to just die like martyrs and suck it up-”

It was getting terribly hard to breathe. You were choking on your own tears now, the urge to hurl burning at the back of your throat like acid. The room was spinning. The fantasy was finally fizzling out. You felt like you were going to die.

_Oh, how you wished you were dead._

At the end of it all, you found yourself nearly-fainted and within in the Author's arms as he held you still, and it is only in that moment that you are finally able to make out the features of his face, the bags under his eyes and the weary compassion of his gaze, his dark complexion and the way his tired eyes looked at you, not in the way a nurse would a victim of war, but how a father regarded their sick child. You felt... safe. You wonder if you've ever made Niko feel this way- if they felt this secure with you.

“I'm so sorry,” the Author lamented with an expression you knew was unquestionably genuine-  
  
_“I'll find a way to break you free from the cycles. I promise,”_ he whispered against your skin before you awoke from the dream and...

The cycle had reset itself once again.

.....

...

.

 

Huh.

 

He was kinda cute.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
